Imprisoned
by Tamerlorde85
Summary: Sentenced to a lifetime imprisonment in another dimension was his punishment. It was where the the worst criminals in all of Alagaësia were sentenced to go. Known only among the oldest of elves and noble of humans, you were only sentenced there if you're crime was so great there was nothing that could stop you. One place where Eragon couldn't wreak havoc upon Alagaësia. Earth.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Wow! Long time no write guys! I have been on FanFiction, writing reviews and reading stories, just not as much as I used to. But I decided to write an IC fic! HOORAY! Darn straight it's hooray. Anyway, the beginning may be confusing, but it shall all be explained in later chapters!**

**I would also like to thank my fellow writers, Middleearthmidget and Elemental Dragon Slayer for helping me so much with my last story, Half-Breed. Hopefully, this story will be much better.**

**Disclaimer: You know I used to love writing insane comments on these. Not so much anymore.**

**NOTE: The rating is T for now, but I may change it to M depending on where I take it.**

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><p>Eragon sat on the stool, a dart in one hand, four in the other. Effortlessly, he threw the dart at the dartboard, hitting it dead in the center, earning him a good one hundred dollars on the spot. He moved a dart from his left hand to his right, and threw another one, hitting the center again, giving him another one hundred dollars. Three darts later, he had earned a total of five hundred bucks in cold hard cash.<p>

The man across the table glared at him, the two girls on his arms not looking very happy that their client just had lost five hundred bucks. There was a good probability that those five hundred were what he was going to pay them with too. Eragon raised his glass towards the man, smirked, and then tipped the glass back and downed the rest of the liquor, setting it bottoms up on the table.

He pocketed his cash and left the table without saying a word.

A wooden chair being pushed back behind got his attention.

"I aren't gonna let no cheater steal my money!" The man drawled in a half drunken accent.

_What that's saying about booze? Never mind, there's dozens of them, _Eragon thought.

_Booze gives balls? _His blue eyed companion asked. _I think that's probably the one you're looking for._

_Really? I've never heard that one before. Are you sure it's real? _He inquired.

_Who knows? But in my defense I think it's true,_ his companion supplied.

Eragon turned around and noticed that not even half a second had passed and they had already carried out a conversation. The man he had just beaten in a rather one-sided game of darts came storming at him, stumbling all the way. The drunken man attempted to throw a punch, but Eragon easily caught it in his right fist.

"Lemma goes ya bastard!" The drunken man shouted.

Eragon could barely understand what the hell the man was saying, but when he finally did comprehend the foreign language of what is known as Drunk, he twisted the man's arm and flipped him over his shoulder, causing the drunken man to land on his incredibly large belly, which deflated and sent vomit bursting out of his mouth.

He shook his head in disgust and walked towards the exit of the bar, his companion joining him. Once again he was disgusted by these men. They openly leered at her, and were practically stripping her naked with their eyes. He did admit that she was beautiful yes, with her round sapphire eyes, and blond hair with natural blue streaks, but he didn't love her in that sense. She was practically his sister.

When he looked away from his companion, he saw one man blocking the exit/entrance to the bar, and he was glaring at Eragon.

When they reached the entrance, Eragon stopped before the man, and raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

"Do you need something?" Eragon asked in a polite, yet mocking tone.

The enormous man in front of him smiled, and with disgust Eragon noticed that the man was missing several teeth. Humans drunk on Earth weren't very different than those drunk in Alagaësia.

"I'm gonna need that five hundred you just stole from my buddy over there, and since you knocked him down, I'm gonna have to take your girl too," the man sneered.

The man snatched his hand towards Saphira's arm, and pulled her towards him. That proved to be his undoing.

Due to the force of him pulling Saphira, she was forced to spin in a circle, but her quick reflexes kicked in. She elbowed him in the sternum, which caused a _crack_ sound, and the man bent over in pain, or at least he tried to. His face was met with Saphira's left elbow, which she had been raising at the time.

The man, now with a broken nose, bloody lip, and a cracked sternum, fell over on the ground.

Facing the door, he heard a cacophony of one noise. Wooden chairs being pushed back and men all standing up at one time.

Eragon smiled and cracked his neck.

Prison was so much better than he thought it would be.

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><p>Three hours later, he didn't have the same train of thought.<p>

"_Heill eka_," Eragon said holding his left palm against the left side of his face, where some idiot had smashed him across the face with a beer bottle. He had removed the small chunks of glass from his skin and then stated the words of healing. Why didn't he think to put wards around him protecting him from beer bottles?

"Oh relax, it's not like I thought of it either, and I have to be at least three times as smart as you," Saphira chirped in as she walked into their apartment living room dressed in a green t-shirt, which was probably his, and blue shorts. She had obviously just taken a shower due to the fact that she had a towel wrapped around the top of her head and that water was still dripping down her legs.

"Why'd you take a shower?" He asked.

She glared at him as if he was the perpetrator. "Some prick decided it would be funny to pour beer all over my head while I wasn't looking."

Eragon shrugged and tried not to smile. But since their minds were intertwined, Saphira knew what he was thinking.

"It's not funny!" She shouted.

Eragon this time didn't need to hold back a smile. He knew from his time in Carvahall, which was quite limited compared to his time on Earth you always respect a woman, apparently even if you were in a bar fight.

"Damn straight you respect a woman in a bar fight," Saphira responded to his thoughts. Saphira yawned and stretched her arms over her head. "I think I'm gonna head to bed. I'm exhausted and you should be too. You were the idiot who took the brunt of the attacks."

"You were the one who just said to respect women in bar fights!" Eragon exclaimed.

"And you should, but you should let me knock some of the guys out too," Saphira chastised. She sighed in an exasperating sort of way, and said her parting, "Goodnight Eragon."

"'Night Saphira," Eragon said while yawning. Saphira stood up from the couch and walked behind it, kissing him on the top of a head before she walked towards her room. Eragon sat on the couch for a few more moments, relishing in the silence of their apartment. When they had first moved into the apartment eight years ago it had been like living in a trash bag. With the help of lots and lots of magic, an argument over the color of the paint on the walls, and eventually the windows had been replaced along with the floorboards and voila. The place was livable for probably the first time in its life.

Eragon and Saphira then performed dozens of spells and counter spells so that nobody could hear inside the apartment, or look inside it with any of the latest technology, and the two even made sure they couldn't hear _outside_ the apartment so they wouldn't hear the constant hustle and bustle of New York City.

He stood up and walked towards a painting depicting three massive creatures. One was obviously the enemy in the painting, while the other two smaller ones were quite clearly trying to kill the giant beast. It was a fairth that Saphira had made for him when he was dying from a plague quite some time before Elvis. Magic had no effect at all against the disease, which caused the most worry in Eragon and Saphira. Eragon had probably only survived because he continued to drain energy from the pommel of his sword, Brisingr.

The fairth showed Shruikan, Galbatorix's twisted dragon, attempting to fend off Saphira and Thorn, which he ultimately failed at doing. But his faithful companion was no longer a dragon. She had only two legs instead of four, and shoulder blades instead of wings. He used to be able to feel her yearning of to have wings again, but now that yearning was no longer there, if not gone. He even used to miss flying as well, and flying in an airplane didn't cut it. But now the only thing he cared for was Saphira.

Another large yawn escaped his mouth, and he gently reminded himself that he needed sleep, or else he would fall asleep at his desk again, which wasn't a very nice experience in the first place. Thank God for his wards.

A frown formed upon his face at his use of the saying. _God._ It was still hard to believe, even after all these years on Earth, that the dominant religion focused on one deity. On Earth it was just... different. Eragon didn't believe in any higher being, but he felt something different on Earth. Miracles took place, and sometimes it did seem like magic happened (not by his or Saphira's doing).

A coworker, and friend of his Rachel, had given birth to her first son, and when he was born they discovered that his esophagus wasn't even connected to his stomach. Rachel's baby should have died instantly, but he didn't. He was a strong little boy at the age of two, yet he was fighting a deadly battle against cancer.

He still didn't believe in any other higher being than dragons, which were mere speculation to if they ever even existed on Earth.

Eragon turned his eyes away from the fairth and looked at the next one along the wall. It was a hand drawn map of Alagaesia to the best of his abilities. All over the map there were small towns like Melian, Furnost, Yazuac, and even Hedarth on the right side of the map. Beyond that went were the Edda River and the Az Ragni river met, and went into a vast expanse of ocean, and beyond that was one of the islands they had found suitable enough for the next generation of Dragon Riders. Naturally, it all went downhill from there.

He pushed those dreadful memories away from his thoughts and he turned away from the two fairths that lined the wall. Eragon walked towards the entrance to his room, just opposite the hall from Saphira. He opened the door and stepped inside, closing the door with his foot behind him. Immediately he began taking off his clothes until he was in his boxers, and from there he pulled on a pair of long, cotton, pajama bottoms and slipped under the covers of his bed, which smelled entirely of cinnamon. He lay down on his stomach, his right arm laying limp at his side, while his left went under the pillow and grasped the brightsteel pistol.

And this was how he went to sleep every night, and whenever he decided to take a nap, which was rare considering he and Saphira had an unspoken agreement that during the day one had to always be awake if the other was sleeping. With one final sigh, he left into the world of dreams.

_He sat on the ever-rocking brig, watching as the waves crashed against the bow of the boat. The elves had put wards up around the ship to keep water from creeping onto the boat, and to protect the ship against the elements. Blodhgarm had decided instead of the ship always sailing on it's own, that he or whoever wanted to could manage the ship as they pleased, as long as they didn't send them reeling off course. _

_ As usual, he was resting in the middle crow's nest of the ship, which often felt like it was going to fall over due to the rocking of the entire ship. But that's part of the reason he spent most of his time up here. The ever constant fear of the forward mast tipping over and crashing kept him on edge, and the other fact that it was so quiet__that he could not hear all the other elves._

_ Saphira often soared above him, enjoying the fact that she could fly freely with Galbatorix dead. However, the one time she did try and balance on the high perch, causing a cacophony of damage to their sailing speed, the crow's nest did indeed collapse starboard, yet with quick reaction and excellent timing, the elves hastily repaired their fallen wooden companion, and their journey continued eastward. The elves believed it was quite the laugh, but Saphira being the vain creature that she is wouldn't speak to anyone but her rider for the rest of the day._

_ A boisterous and loud screeching sound caught his attention for a brief moment before he turned back to his book solely focused on life in the east, beyond Alagaesia. That's when it hit him. Birds!_

_ He shot up and stared forward, past the bow of the ship, and lo and behold, a land mass stood what must've been at least ten miles away. It looked like only a speck on the horizon with one single peak standing in solitude._

_ Eragon heard cheers and songs from below, signalling that the elves had also seen the island. They had done it!_

He shot up in the bed in a cold sweat, his pistol aimed at the target of intrusion. The alarm clock. Eragon had half a mind to shoot it right then and there, but as Saphira had told him many times, 'shooting your alarm is just gonna have to make you buy a new one.'

But his dream greatly disturbed him. He hadn't dreamt of his homeland in many lifetimes, causing him to wonder, why now? He pressed the stop button on the alarm clock and rolled out of bed, landing in a perfect push up position.

Over a hundred push ups and a cold shower later to wake him up, he stepped out of the bathroom, trying to tie his tie. Once again, he couldn't get the tie in a straight line nor could he get it the right size. He thought about using magic to tie it, but in the past years he and Saphira had only been using magic when necessary.

Eragon grumbled and decided to take a casual day, pulling off the tie and unbuttoning his white shirt. Instead, he pulled on a pair of khaki jeans and a thick blue t-shirt. Not exactly the best attire to wear on the first day, but he had enough casual day cards from last year to make up for it. He walked out of his room and nearly crashed into Saphira, who was wearing a deep blue t-shirt and gym shorts, along with tennis shoes. She never did dress formally for work.

He smiled at her as he did every morning on days like this, as if to say, "you look beautiful."

Saphira smiled back and they both walked towards the kitchen; Eragon pulling two pans out of the low cabinet, and Saphira pulling the eggs, bacon, and shredded cheese out from the refrigerator. It was almost like a dance that they had perfected. Right when Saphira cracks open an egg, he places one of the smaller pans under it and turns on the burner. Right after that Saphira grabs four strips of bacon and tossed them in his direction, one at a time, and he catches them in the skillet and sets it on the stove as well, which Saphira lit right after he caught all the pieces of bacon.

In a few short minutes, their breakfast has been placed on a plate, courtesy of Eragon, and they are eating.

_Crunch!_

Eragon looked to his right and saw Saphira's cheeks stuffed full before she swallowed it all in one big gulp, not even needing to drink something afterwards. He looked down at his single piece of bacon that he had just taken a bite of. Despite four pieces of bacon being cooked, three of them went to Saphira while one went to Eragon, as he was still prone to eat less meat than Saphira did.

When she saw him staring at her, she glared back before she noticed the time on the clock.

"Holy shit!" She exclaimed before shoving the rest of the eggs in her mouth and snatching her purse. Eragon simply ignored her until his fork was halfway between his mouth and his plate before a hand gripped his elbow and yanked him off the stool where he was sitting, causing the fork to clatter onto his plate.

"What the heck Saphira?!" Eragon shouted, futilely trying to reach for his fork.

"It's 6:45 Eragon! That's the heck! We're supposed to be at work within the next ten minutes and you're asking what the heck is?!" Saphira shouted.

"_Eom eka,_" Eragon whispered, raising his left palm and aiming it at his dark red bag that held all of the papers he needed for the day. _To me._

He had just managed to free himself from Saphira when he caught his bag by the straps and wrapped it around his shoulder. Eragon sighed and followed a rampaging Saphira out of the apartment, ranting about how they were going to be late, and that Mr. Quinzel was going to fire them if they were late.

"Saphira, we are literally _right next_ to where we work. We will not be late," Eragon emphasized.

His blue companion practically dragged him down the stairs (the elevator was under maintenance) and outside the apartment complex. They took the side alley next to their apartment complex and walked along until they reached the metal door marked 'Bromsin'. He finally managed to break free once Saphira had to pull out her keys to unlock the door to her office. Saphira nearly slammed the door shut on him but he barely managed to stop it with four of his right hand fingers.

The impact of the door never happened, and the door was about two inches away from his hand. He had thought of wards for everything. Excluding beer bottles of course.

_Hmm, I'm going to have to add that on there pretty soon,_ Eragon thought to himself, Saphira too busy bustling around her office for him to hear his thoughts clearly.

Eragon stepped inside the small office and walked towards the inside exit.

"Stop!" Saphira shouted. "Are you not going to wish your sister a good day?"

He scowled and walked over to Saphira, positioning his bag over his shoulder so it was more comfortable. She smiled smugly and stretched out her arms to give him a hug. Eragon shook his head and smiled before embracing her and whispering in her ear.

"Good luck Saffron, try not to kill anybody either."

Saphira laughed and punched him on the shoulder. "You too Eric."

Eragon waved one final goodbye before walking out the door and heading down the tiled hallways. The ceiling was made of a tiled and hardened material, and the floor was made of concrete with a ceramic covering. In less than forty seven seconds, he had made it to the main office, where Mr. Quinzel worked along with the two ladies who worked at the front desk.

He grabbed a red piece of paper out of one of the baskets and grabbed a nearby pen, signing it with his 'name'.

_Eric Bromsin._

He used a strip of tape and taped it across the small piece of paper, leaving enough room for it to be taped to something. One of the women at the front desk, Sandy he believed her name was, noticing him taping a casual day slip and winked at him.

Eragon ignored it and walked towards Mr. Quinzel's closed office door. Without any decor whatsoever, he slapped the casual day form onto the door, making sure the tape stuck, and walked away towards his area of the building.

_BEEP- BEEP!_

That was the bell, signalling that all of the staff and faculty had to be at work, otherwise they were considered late. Of course, the bell did signify something else though. Something darker. Something much more sinister. The arrival of high school students.

Yes. Eragon _did_ teach high school. No. Eragon was _not_ out of his mind (Okay, maybe a little). It was his own way of compensating for not being able to teach the next generation of Dragon Riders. In teaching high schoolers, he could teach the next generation of human beings, even if they were practically immature eight year olds stuck in a seventeen year olds' body.

Eragon opened the wooden door to his classroom and kicked the kickstand to keep the door propped open. He set his bag on his desk in the front left corner of the room, directly opposite the door. The shouting and elephant stomps of high schoolers reached his incredibly sensitive elf-ears, which were of course rounded along with his eyes to appear human. As he learned so long ago, humans were so fragile, and could break at a moment's notice, proven by Saphira punching someone and the result was their skull being shattered. In all proven ways, she seemed to keep the strength of a grown dragon, along with the ferocity of one. Sadly, she longer contained wings and couldn't fly without the aid of magic. Fire-breathing was a whole other matter entirely.

He had just set his briefcase on the desk when his first student barged into the room, shouting his name at the top of her lungs.

"MR. BROMSIN! MR. BROMSIN!"

"Phoebe! Enough with the shouting, you just might have killed some poor soul in Africa," Eragon admonished with a slight tease. Although to be honest her shouting really did vibrate his skull.

He waited for Phoebe to catch her breath, for it appeared she must have run all the way to his classroom.

"Mr. Bromsin… do you… remember the… other day when I…" Phoebe then proceeded to suck in a large breath of air. "Mr. Bromsin do you remember the other day when I told you that I had applied for a job at the library across the street?"

Not really. "Yes, of course. What about it?" Eragon asked.

"I GOT THE JOB!" Phoebe burst out.

Eragon literally flinched and jumped back two feet, muttering to himself afterwards. "Dear Napoleon, what does that child _eat_ in the mornings?"

He tried, he really did try to pull off the best smile he could tell her congratulations, but even though most of his heart was in it, a small part was not. Probably because that girl was always so damn hyper. How the hell did she get a job in a _library_ of all places?

After berating Phoebe and telling her to sit in her seat, more and more of his students began to trickle into the classroom.

Finally, at 7:30 came the next bell, signalling that school was now in session and that if any students weren't in their classrooms by now, then they were late.

After calling out role, and quite a few not even answering because they were asleep, he pulled the projector screen down and turned on the projector with his new remote. Immediately he launched into his lesson, exploring the 1100s with his students. He had a teaching method that was quite simple really. Since he taught post-1000 A.D and one of his coworkers taught pre-1000 A.D, he decided that since there only a thousand years since 1000 A.D, and only ten months of school, that he would teach one hundred years a month. It wasn't a perfect method, but it worked most of the time, and his students seemed to enjoy it. Some of his students, such as Phoebe for example, were paying rapt attention, soaking up his every word and jotting down notes for the test he was going to assign at the end of the week. Others, such as Damian, weren't even paying any attention at all. Damian appeared to be too busy thinking about the sex he had had the night previously with Kelsey, another one of his students.

Kelsey on the other hand was not even thinking of Damian, or sex, or her bedroom. She was far too busy thinking about whether she should get Cocaine or Marijuana later in the evening. Sometimes, he really hated his students.

Just a few seconds after finishing with the story of the first influenza outbreak in Iceland and the fire and plague insurance did the bell ring.

_BEEP-BEEP!_

Immediately the students stood up and ran out of the classroom, either eager to go their next class, or wanting the day to be over and done with.

Eragon looked up from his notes to look at the clock, and saw that it was 8:31 in the morning. Only six more hours until school was finished, and then another hour after that until he could actually leave the school.

Four hours later, Eragon was about ready to slam himself into the wall. Most of his students were eager to learn, while the ones that weren't caused a huge disruption in either the classroom itself, or his mind. Sometimes breaching his students minds was quite useful, no matter how dishonest it was. He could tell if they were going to cheat on a test, or where they were going to be exchanging drugs during the class changes.

Thankfully, four hours after first period meant it was time for his almost two hour planning period and lunch. So right after fifth period ended, he locked his classroom door as the final student left, and he began to head towards the teachers lounge, where several of his fellow co workers, Saphira included, were gathered around the several tables to eat their lunch. He and Saphira, along with three other teachers, had made an arrangement of sorts that on each day of the week one would bring lunch for the five of them to eat.

Today, it was Bruce's turn. Bruce did hold a respect for World History, but his heart and soul was in Algebra II. Of the five of them, Carol and Isabelle were the best cooks, and would often volunteer to bring something in if one of them couldn't. Carol was one of the school's Biology teachers, while Isabelle was possibly the sternest English teacher you could find.

And of course, back when he and Saphira first applied to teach at the school, they were separated from everyone else. Until the PTO funded a dinner and that would be where the two met the three other teachers. And from there they had just hit it off, becoming great friends.

Bruce brought what he did every single Friday. Chicken schnitzel and homemade french fries. Eragon did stand by what he said. Carol and Isabelle were the best cooks out of the five of them, but Bruce didn't cook this. It was Bruce's wife that cooked it. Eragon began to unpack the food, already smelling the deliciousness of the schnitzel.

Right when the last of the tupperware containers were unpacked from the bag, the lounge phone rang. Nigh on nobody cared to hear it, as it rang all the time, so Tenga Ingvar, a foreign man who taught French, stood up to take the call. Nobody paid any attention until -

"Bromsin!" Tenga shouted, startling everybody in the vicinity.

Both Saphira and Eragon looked up at Tenga, pausing in loading their plates with the food.

"Not you, him!" Tenga said, once again shouting, but this time pointing at Eragon. "Sandra's calling about someone asking for you, wants you at the front office." _So her name is Sandra, _not_ Sandy. Saphira's been watching too much Grease._ Tenga must have misunderstood Eragon's puzzled look, for he then reiterated himself. "There's someone in the front office here to see you."

Eragon understood clearly what the old man had said, but he didn't understand who would possibly be here to see _him_ of all people. The only friends he had were at the table where he was sitting. Could it be his landlord? No, that wouldn't make sense. Jonathan knew he was a teacher and wouldn't bother him at school. It certainly wouldn't be their neighbor who must've been at least eighty years old and owned six cats.

He sure did hope it wasn't George Washington rising from the grave intending to haunt Eragon for the beating Eragon gave George. Okay, that was ridiculous, but who could it be?

"Alright, tell her I'm on my way," he said, mostly to himself.

As Eragon pushed his chair back and stood up, Saphira asked, "Do you want me to go with you?"

Before Eragon could say anything, Bruce interrupted him. "Aw, come on Saffron, Erik's a big boy."

Eragon glared at Bruce before staring at him hard and saying, "Do you even lift Master Wayne?"

At the end of his sentence, Eragon cracked the smallest of smiles and walked out of the teacher's lounge, heading straight towards the front office, which wasn't a very long distance.

But something wasn't right, something was off. As he walked the tiled floors of Southwest High School, he couldn't help but be brought back to the dream he had the night before. Why did he, for the first time in forever, dream about his homeland? Was it a premonition? Those were rarely good.

As he came closer and closer to the front office, he could hear raised voices; well; at least one raised voice and the calm and collected one of the other. When he was just about to enter the office, his Gedwëy Ignasia began to glow a faint iridescent blue. When he noticed this, he silently said the words in his head to hide the glow, but was unable to remove the sign itself.

The only time he was able to hide the Gedwëy Ignasia was when he rubbed dirt on his palm. No amount of magic could be used to hide the symbol, unless you summoned dirt to cover your palm which was essentially the same thing.

Right as he entered the office the raised voice turned into a sweet yet very fake tone of voice.

"Oh Erik, there you are!" Sandra said, practically fawning over him.

Eragon decided to get to the point, wanting to avoid further contact with the woman. "I was told there was someone here to see me?"

"Well, she says she's here for a Bromsson, not Bromsin, so she could have easily mistaken you for somebody else." And as Sandra kept blabbing on, Eragon was frozen stock still. Was it really just a simple mistake, or was this person from his homeland?

Eragon finally looked at the person who had wanted to see him, and it took nearly ten seconds for him to recognize her. She hadn't changed a bit. Her emerald green eyes still shone, along with her raven colored hair. Yet she was dressed like she was about go on another adventure with him to slay a mad king and his corrupted dragon.

Only one single word escaped his mouth, and he was confident that she heard him.

"Arya."

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><p><strong>AN: CLIFFHANGER! Sort've… not really sure 'cause I don't think I've done a cliffhanger before. I'll just call it a cliffhanger and be done with it. Remember to F&F&R!**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: And welcome to the second chapter of Imprisoned! It's great to be back up and writing again on the IC archive. Once again, I would like to thank Middleearthmidget and Elemental Dragon Slayer for being such great friends and helping me come up with ideas.**

**Also, as per Circle of Circles arrangement, please go and read Switching Lanes by Elemental Dragon Slayer. It was updated too *gasp*!**

**Disclaimer: I own Earth and Bob the Builder. Damn straight I do.**

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><p>Eragon should have, definitely could have, and would have just walked away had she not uttered the words, "We need your help."<p>

Even then, he still wanted to simply walk away from her, to not bring up the world he was forced the leave behind. But even after dozens of lifetimes apart, he still cannot refuse this woman.

Sandy, or Sandra, whatever her name was, shouted in anger, "Who are you?!"

Quickly Eragon strove to think of an appropriate title for her, and as soon as it crossed his mind he had said it aloud.

"She's my girlfriend."

Eragon had to almost physically restrain every bone in his hand to stop himself from covering his mouth at his faux pas.

"Girlfriend?!" Sandra asked in horror. "From where?" Clearly she was much more smitten with him than he had previously known.

"Norway," Eragon said, speaking the first country that came to mind.

Irritated at Sandra's not-so-subtle anger with his fictitious relationship status, he grabbed Arya by the wrist and stalked through the halls, making sure not to be seen by neither the cameras nor human being.

"Shadeslayer, let me go," Arya nigh on shouted, and for some reason at the use of his former title, he was angered even further. She attempted to attack him or dig her heels into the ground, but neither method worked, as she was still stumbling along after him.

Finally, when they reached his classroom, Eragon opened the door and lightly pushed her in; making sure no one was in the hallway before he shut the door. What he _did_ expect however, was a palm being slammed against his cheek.

Eragon ignored the sting of the slap and mentally set wards around the classroom so no one could hear inside the classroom, or use any modern technology to see or hear inside as well.

"You have no right to drag me about like a common harlot! I am the Queen of the -"

"Not here you're not!" Eragon growled. "Here, you are nobody! You are not Arya Shur'tugal, not Arya Shadeslayer or Argetlam or Dragonkiller, and you are most certainly _not_ the Queen of the Elves."

Arya's nostrils flared, and her eyes narrowed, but she said nothing.

"You've got a lot of nerve showing up here after all this time, disrupting _my_ life and trying to get me to help you and your home," Eragon berated.

At last Arya began to speak up. "Alagaësia is your home too."

"Not anymore!" Eragon replied hotly. "Not since I was tried and condemned here on this rock for eternity. And do you _really_ know why it's not my home anymore?"

Arya did not move, nor did she say a word, and Eragon plowed on.

"Because everyone I ever loved or cared about each declared me guilty of mass murder, and do you know who approved the mandate to send me here to Earth?" Eragon asked lowly.

"It was you Arya, you were the one who had the final say in whether I was innocent or guilty, and without a second's hesitation, you declared me guilty. So don't come to _my_ home and ask for _my_ help, when all you've ever done to me is believe me to be foolish, immature, and psychotic. So don't even bother," Eragon finished.

Without another glance at the elf, Eragon turned on his heel and began to leave his classroom, uttering his goodbye sarcastically. "Have fun on the return flight."

"I did not think you were guilty." It could barely be qualified as a whisper, but he heard it anyway.

He stopped in his tracks, rooted to the spot. _Damn_ her for making him feel like this. Damn her for coming into his life and wanting his help.

"What are you talking about?" Eragon asked lowly, angling his head to the left so she could only see the left side of his face.

"I did not think you were guilty," Arya said again.

This time, Eragon spun around, running his hands through his hair, "What the hell do you mean?!"

Arya hesitated, as if fearful of Eragon, before she explained.

"When we were in Illirea, and you and Saphira were being tried, I believed you to be innocent. I could not believe you to massacre thousands of people for no reason other than spite," Arya explained. And Eragon had a hard time believing this, considering what she did to him.

"Then why the hell did you declare me guilty?! You and I both know that one opposite vote would've sent the entire case into retrial, but without a moment's hesitation, you did no such thing. Why?" By the end of his rant, Eragon was practically begging to know the reason that the former love of his life had sentenced him to a lifetime in an unfamiliar world with nothing to guide him or help him on his way.

"I had a duty to my people and -"

"NO!" Eragon roared, causing Arya to uncharacteristically flinch. "Do not give me this 'duty' bullshit!" Arya seemed confused by his use of the word bullshit, but he plowed on. "You have a mind of your own! You do not have to go running to your peoples' skirts to hear their opinion. For once in your life, can you just think for yourself?!"

At this point, Eragon was beyond angry, he was downright furious.

"I had no choice!" Arya retaliated.

Eragon's eyes went as hard as steel before he spoke. "There is _always_ a choice."

Arya's eyes however were filled with sorrow. "Sometimes there is not. Sometimes you must follow the will of your people and not your own."

Eragon scoffed and sat down on his beloved spinney chair behind his desk. "You have no idea how wrong you are."

At this, Arya's eyes blazed with fury. "Do not pretend you know of the many hardships in life. I am one hundred and nineteen summers, compared to your insolent age of what? Thirty four? Thirty five perhaps?"

Eragon was surprised, but still filled with anger at her insult, so he jumped up and stated. "If you are only ten years older than we last saw each other, than I obviously far surpass you in age, wisdom, and strength."

"Do not think you know my thoughts," Arya warned coldly. When he had lived in Alagaësia, he would have taken those words to heart, but here and now, he merely scoffed.

"Lifetimes ago I would've been frightened, but now I am merely amused."

Arya's eyebrows scrunched up in confusion and frustration. "What could you possibly mean? It has been a mere ten years!"

"Not for me it hasn't! I have been on this Earth much longer than ten years," Eragon replied.

"How long have you been here, if not ten years?" Arya inquired.

Eragon chuckled humorlessly. "Oh I don't know. I lost count a little after three hundred, but I know it has been several hundred years beyond that. How many I am not sure."

"Despite the fact that I don't want to admit it, you have obviously been alive longer than I have, but that doesn't change the previous matter. I had no choice other than to declare you guilty," Arya said, going right back to their previous conversation.

"Like I said, there is always a choice in any matter. Let me provide you with an example." Aw damn it, it sounded like he was talking to one of his students. "A long time ago I was living in a city named Rome, and it was, and still is, a beautiful city. But at the time, it really wasn't the best place to live despite its lovely scenery. I had been living there for ten years or so, and I began to notice the brutality and cruelty of our leader of four years. It knew no bounds, and he slaughtered men and women alike, but his possible worst crime to me was him raping his three sisters and then prostituting them off to other men." Arya gasped in horror.

"Not many in the city knew of this occurrence, but I and a few of my friends did. We decided that this man didn't deserve to live, as he had raped his family, and had also declared himself and his horse a living god, yes, he declared his horse a living god. So we plotted to assassinate him, and I was selected to do the utmost honors.

"When I had snuck into the senate, which was rather easy, I hid behind a curtain, and right as the senate meeting started, I hoisted the man up by his throat and held a knife to his temple.

"His subordinates begged me not to kill him, claiming that he had simply lost his way in life. I of course did not believe them as I had seen him sell his sisters with my own eyes. But still they begged me not to kill their ruler, and ironically he was mine as well, but I made a choice. I decided that I had a will of my own, and I didn't have to give a damn about what others said, so I plunged the knife into his head and left him dead on the carpet. Of course, there was more violence that ensued after that, but I made my own decision in my life. _Mine_. I did not follow the will of the people but made my own, independent choice," Eragon finished with an air of finality.

"I also made Pol Pot dig his own grave and then I buried him alive," he added as an afterthought.

Arya seemed completely astonished at the story he had just recalled in front of her. "What was the man's name?"

"Well his real name was Saloth Par, but everybody called him Pol Pot," Eragon answered.

"No, not that man, the other man. The one who sold his sisters," Arya corrected herself.

"Oh, I believe his name was Caligula or something of the sort."

The air in the room seemed to be much thinner than earlier, until Eragon spoke once more. "This does mean I forgive you Arya, not in the least, but we will have to talk later."

Arya nodded her head in a sharp, bird-like motion. "I understand, for I do not understand much, if any, of this world and its inhabitants."

"And you might want to change out of those clothes. Wear something a bit more apropos; something that doesn't make you look like you're from the Dark Ages."

"The what?" Arya asked.

"Never mind, but you need to change clothes," Eragon restated.

Arya growled. "I did not tolerate the weakness of human females in Alagaësia, and I will not tolerate it here."

Eragon merely chuckled. "Relax. Women and men in this country are treated equally, if anything women are treated much better than men. You don't have to wear dresses or anything of the like, but you probably do need to hide your sword and bow. That might tempt someone to warn the police."

"What are the please?" She inquired.

"No, the police. They are the law enforcement." At Arya's blank look Eragon further explained. "They protect the people around the city from those wanting to do harm. Sometimes they are too late and they investigate the crime that has happened."

"Sounds like a peaceful planet," Arya remarked.

Eragon snorted. "Hardly. As we speak wars are being fought all over the world, some in civil war, others fighting over land. If you want a peaceful planet you'll have to convince ISIS to forfeit their crusade, which most definitely won't be happening since it's gone on for several millennia."

"What is ISIS?"

Eragon was about to answer before he changed his mind. "I think we should just talk about all of this later, besides, my lunch period is far over and the bell is going to ring soon." Eragon motioned for Arya to sit at the back table where the administrators would sit if he were ever being observed. "Oh, and Arya?"

Arya looked up from wringing her hands in her lap. "Yes Eragon?"

"You are in world where humans are the only intelligible race, where elves, dwarves, and dragons are mere myths. I suggest you look a lot less like an elf, and a lot more like a human," Eragon said, gesturing to her pointed ears and the cat-like eyes, which she could get away with if she said she was Asian, but the pointed ears were rather suspicious.

Arya nodded and began murmuring the spell upon which to make her eyes and ears round.

And just as she finished, Phoebe ran into the room. "MR. BROMSIN! MR. BROMSIN!"

"Elephants Phoebe," Eragon berated for the second time that day.

"Oh, right. Sorry Mr. Bromsin," Phoebe apologized.

"What is it that you need?" Eragon asked.

"Ms. Bromsin gave me a B+ on the weekly physical test! You've got to knock some sense into your sister," Phoebe begged.

"And did you ask why she gave you a B?" Eragon inquired.

Phoebe murmured something unintelligible.

"I'm sorry Phoebe, could you speak louder?" Eragon asked with a slight smile.

"It's 'because I didn't complete all of the pull-ups. I was supposed to do seven, but I only did two," Phoebe admitted ashamed. "But the guy who went before me was _so_ sweaty that my fingers slipped and I fell and landed straight on my-" Eragon raised his eyebrows, daring her to complete her sentence. "Tushie?" Phoebe supplied weakly.

"Did you ever consider asking her to try it again?" Eragon asked. Phoebe looked at him with wide eyes. "Just talk to her tomorrow about it, I'm sure she'll let you try it again."

Eragon chuckled and motioned for her to sit down, and he saw out of the corner of his eye Phoebe wave in greeting to Arya.

By this time, several other students had entered his room, some only sparing a glance at Arya, but some, such as Damian, openly leered at her, causing Eragon's anger to spark.

_Why in the hell am I feeling this way? I don't even love her anymore, yet I feel like throttling Damian, _Eragon thought to himself. _Then again, when do I _not_ want to choke the life out of Damian?_

Faster than the human eye could see, and possibly an elf, he grabbed an eraser off of his desk and threw it at Damian's head, causing him to turn his head away from Arya and look around for the object of his interest. Not to Eragon's surprise did Damian totally dismiss the eraser that lie on the floor.

When the bell finally rang did Eragon clear his throat, causing most, if not all, of his students to look at him in the front of the room.

"Happy Friday everyone, I hope you enjoy your weekend, but before you do so I have some news to deliver to you." Almost everyone in the class groaned. "Oh relax, it doesn't apply to everyone. Now, received an email from Ms. Bromsin, my sister, that her sixth period class was horrendous. I haven't been given the specifics of what each child did, but she wanted me to relay your punishment." Half of the class visibly sighed in relief, specifically those who weren't in Sapphire's sixth period gym class.

"Everyone in her sixth period class besides Jeremiah, Steven, Barbara, and Damian all are being received an ADR **(A/N: Administrator Discipline Referral)**." The kids whose names he just listed relaxed, although Damian seemed rather surprised at his lack of punishment. "However," he watched as those four kids tensed rather noticeably. "Damian is getting an ADR, _and_ a month's worth of detention."

Once again, Eragon wanted to throttle Damian. Saphira hadn't sent him an email, she had sent him a message through their intertwined minds. Asking if Saphira's boobs were real and then trying to poke them sent Eragon into a blind rage.

"Of course, that is _her_ punishment. I think my sister is being far too lenient with you Damian, so, I have also decided to issue a punishment of my own. What it is, I don't know yet, but rest assured, it will be _very_ severe," Eragon warned.

"And as many of you may have noticed, we have an extra member in our classroom today." Almost all of the heads in the classroom turned to Arya. "She is a good friend of mine who wished to observe my teaching methods, so she shall be in here observing for the next few days."

Eragon was tempted to throw another object at Damian seeing as how he was staring at Arya again, but stopped himself, keeping his anger with the boy in check.

Thankfully the announcements came on, the assistant principal read the announcements jovially, and then proceeded to dismiss the students, bus riders first, and then the ones who drove home, or had someone pick them up from the school.

He sighed in relief as the last student left his classroom, leaving him alone with Arya.

Before he could even speak a word to Arya, asking if she was hungry, Saphira barged into the room. Sensing she was about to tirade, Eragon mentally shut the door behind her, making sure the wards around the room were secure.

"That son of a bitch!" Saphira shouted, pacing left and right in the front of his classroom. "That idiot thinks he can just ask me if they're real and try to touch them?! I'll show him what's real with a fist to his - Oh, you have a guest. Sorry about that, do you want to just meet me at home when you're done?"

Eragon narrowed his eyebrows but said nothing, pointing towards Arya once again. It would make sense if Saphira did not recognize Arya immediately, considering it had been years and her face was in the shape of a human.

"You look… familiar… Do I know you?" Saphira asked slowly, obviously unsure as to how she knew this mysterious woman.

"I am afraid I must ask the same of you," Arya asked. Oh, of course! Arya didn't recognize Saphira because she wasn't an enormous dragon!

"Right, I feel it is time to intervene here. Saphira, greet our old acquaintance, Arya, and Arya, greet my dragon Saphira."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: So that's that, and I know I must look terrible leaving you with these mini-cliffhangers, but I like doing them, and I was going to write more of this, but I felt this was a good place to end the chapter.**

**Also, I would like to ask if anyone remembers from my old story, Half-Breed, the Memory Chapters. I would basically do a flashback of an important event that happened, except in this story, they'll be much different events. If you want me to do them, I will, if not, then I won't.**

**F&F&R!**


	3. Memory Chapter: Sentenced

**A/N: Many of you have obviously noticed and pointed out that I haven't updated in a long time. It hasn't even been a month, calm down. School just started back up so I don't have a lot of time to write, and HOW DARE I have a life outside of FanFiction. Some of you really need to calm the heck down. I know this isn't a very long chapter, but so many people wanted another chapter so I typed this up, and yes, it is a Memory Chapter.**

**Disclaimer: CALM THE HECK DOWN PEOPLE.**

Eragon looked around the circular courtroom, easily noticing the ones who gave him hateful stares or the cold look of the elves. His three students along with their dragons stood to his right, ready to defend him when necessary. The only other person on his side of the room was Angela the Herbalist, surprisingly another person who had volunteered to defend him at a moment's notice.

On the left side of the courtroom were a good portion of nobles from Illirea and other major cities, including the elven and dwarves cities.

And in front of him stood the ones who would decide his and Saphira's fate. All the major leaders and rulers of Alagaesia sat in front of a half circle table.

"Is your name Eragon Bromsson?" A voice on the right side of the U shaped table asked. Queen Nasuada.

Eragon angled his head, "Is it?"

Nasuada sighed. "Now is not the time to play games Eragon, now answer the question."

Eragon clenched his jaw and answered in affirmative.

"And are you twenty-four years of age?"

"Yes," Eragon answered again.

"Are you a Dragon Rider?"

"Yes."

"Did you kill Galbatorix?"

"Unless I have a very flawed memory, yes I did."

"Are you the leader of the Dragon Riders?"

"Sure."

"Do you have three students whose names are Ferran, Ilicane, and Brokk?"

"Affirmative."

"And have the students previously mentioned completed their training?"

"Unless they have secretly trained under another Shur'tugal, then no."

Nasuada gave him a stern glare.

"Did you kill thousands of innocent lives and obliterate leagues of land into ruin?"

This time Eragon spoke with more conviction than he had before. "No."

Nasuada sighed. "And will you continue to remain in your stance of innocence?"

"I see no other reason not to considering it is the truth," Eragon retorted.

"As you say, and now I believe it is time for the defendant's companions to speak for him. And I believe your three protégée are going to speak for you today?" Nasuada inquired.

"That is correct," Eragon replied.

"You're Majesty, if I may object," the prosecutor said, standing. Eragon was honestly not surprised that the prosecutor was Lord Dathedr, one of the most cunning of elves and one who could easily twist Eragon's words into lies.

"You may," Nasuada allowed.

"The defendant has been training these three of his companions for the past five years, and could have easily subjected their minds towards his will. It is unfair for him to force these poor souls into defending a guilty man, and even if they have not been indoctrinated by the defendant, then their opinion is still far too biased as they are his students," Lord Dathedr said with thinly veiled smugness.

"Motion approved, the defendant's three protégée will not be able to defend their teacher due to the possibility of biasism," Nasuada accepted without a moment's hesitation.

_Did Dathedr just diminish our greatest chance of being proven innocent?_ Saphira asked within his mind.

_I am afraid so, for the only person who can testify for us is Angela_, Eragon finished grimly.

"Biasism they may be subjected to, but I am not!" Angela announced loudly as she stepped forward. "Angela the Herbalist here to defend Eragon Shadeslayer Your _Majesty_."

Eragon wanted to snort at Angela's use of the word 'Majesty', as mocking as it was.

Before anyone could so much as utter a word, Angela began to plow his defense. "Eragon here was born and raised as a farmhand outside the small village of Carvahall. He was a rather innocent and young man to be the spearhead of a rebellious group, yet he took the role anyway despite the lack of confidence from the humans and the humor of the elves who thought him incompetent. Not many believed in him, yet what did he do? He freed all of Alagaesia by killing Galbatorix, and in the process slaying a Shade, doing what everyone thought he was unable to do. Does this honestly sound like the actions of a man who would consciously murder thousands of people and burn a country to the ground?" Nasuada opened her mouth to speak, but Angela interrupted her before she could speak.

"That's right, it does not sound like the man who would do such a thing, thank you for agreeing with me. So why is he being charged with these ridiculous crimes that he couldn't possibly have committed?" Angela ended with a slight huff.

Eragon honestly didn't know whether to feel honored that she defended him as such, or slightly insulted. He decided to feel both.

"Yes, thank you for statement Angela," Nasuada said with a fake smile. "Now that the defense statements are out of the way, I believe it is time we vote as a people. Nar Garzhvog?"

The Kull hesitated for a slight moment before answering. "Guilty."

Eragon's hands turned into fists at the first vote, but surely not many would think him guilty, for most were his closest of friends.

And so Nasuada moved to the next leader. "Lord Risthart of Teirm?"

"Guilty."

Well that really wasn't much of a surprise, for the man didn't like Eragon anyway.

"Lady Lorana of Feinster?"

"Guilty."

"Lord Marcus Tábor of Dras-Leona?"

"Guilty."

He did destroy the city's gates during the war.

"Lord Roran Stronghammer of Carvahall?"

Eragon watched with dismay as Roran seemed to fight an internal battle within himself before speaking so low not many could hear. "Guilty."

Nasuada seemed satisfied with Roran's answer, and Eragon could not help the feeling of throttling his older cousin come into his mind. But he knew it, he knew no one was going to help him now.

"King Orik of the Dwarves?"

Eragon stared at his foster-brother, silently pleading him to declare him innocent, for it only took one vote for the whole trial to be reconsidered.

But Orik did not appear to be his savior, for his answer was plain and short, yet you could hear the silent tears being withheld. "Guilty."

Eragon's tight grip underneath the table sent cracks sprawling throughout the wood.

"I myself vote Eragon guilty," Nasuada said, seemingly confident that nothing else would interfere with her trial, until she remembered the last of the judges. "Queen Arya of the Elves?"

And Eragon's hope was rekindled. The woman he loved, the one who had fought by his side during the war and was a fellow dragon rider. She would not believe that he had performed any of these actions.

And when she answered without hesitation, a deep dark anger grew in his heart. "Guilty."

What made him to most upset was the tone she spoke in. Not the mental battle of Roran, or the reluctance of Orik, or even the hesitation of Nar Garzhvog, but in the sick and cold monotone voice that she used.

His family had betrayed him to the farthest extent imaginable.

Eragon and Saphira watched sickeningly as the men and women on the other side of the courtroom broke into smug smiles, minus the elves of course, who showed no emotion whatsoever.

Nasuada cleared her throat before proudly speaking. "The court of law has spoken, and hereby Eragon Shadeslayer and Saphira Brightscales shall be appointed for the rest of eternity in the Elseworld."

Every eyebrow on the judge panel was raised and some of the humans even let out a loud or slight gasp, all besides Nasuada, who with a wave of her hand summoned two dozen magicians, human magicians.

_Strange, there is no possible way a human magician can send me to the Elseworld. What is Nasuada thinking?_ He thought to Saphira.

He heard Saphira mentally sigh. _I myself do not know, but despite Nasuada's obvious foolishness in charging us, it would seem that she knows what she is doing in this matter._

"Eragon Shadeslayer, rise," Nasuada ordered. Eragon hated taking orders from anyone, but given the fact that he didn't have a choice, he did so anyway. "Magicians, if you will please begin the spell."

As one, the twenty four magicians bowed their heads and began chanting, not in the Ancient Language, but something else. Something sinister, something strange, and something that was not magic.

Eragon attempted to reach out his mind towards the men and women performing the spell, yet remembered that he had previously been drugged so that no magic could escape his lips. With a growl of frustration, Eragon whispered his only salvation. The Name of Names. It was impossible for him to forget that one Word. The dullness surrounding his mind vanished instantly, and he reached out his mind towards the shackles that bound his hands and silently undid the lock. As fast as possible, he flung the shackles towards Lord Dathedr, the closest elf to him at the moment, and leaped towards the nearest magician shouting, "BRISINGR!"

He heard a rattle and then loud crash as a flaming sword flew into the courtroom and into Eragon's right hand. He nearly brought the sword down on one of the magician's heads, cutting off their spell, but a sharp pain had erupted within the pit of his stomach, and he heard the twang! of an arrow being released from its string.

He had been too late, and he felt and listened as the arrow pierced his upper right rib cage, penetrating a lung. But right before he hit the floor and the arrow would be shoved further through his body, the room disappeared as did the clamor of noise and the chanting of "magicians."

Unfortunately, he did land on a ground, although this one was dusty and not the polished wood like in the courtroom.

Eragon managed to roll over onto his back and looked at the sky, wondering where he could possibly be in Alagaesia. That was until the sun hit his body. It was not Alagaesia's sun, which was a bright ball of white in the sky, this one was a boisterous yellow. He was no longer in Alagaesia.

He was in Elseworld.


End file.
